


feel the earthquake in the room

by pageleaf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5 Things, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, everyone should love Phichit because he deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: Five times Phichit Chulanont seduced a Grumpy and/or Generally Reserved Skater, and one time he was seduced in return(or: Five friendly hookups, and one that's a little more)





	feel the earthquake in the room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/gifts).



> notes on pairings: this fic also contains phichit/yuuri, phichit/michele, and phichit/seung-gil, but because the fic is endgame phichit/otabek/yuri, i thought it would be best to leave the others untagged.
> 
> for blindmadness, who i love an immeasurable amount :')) ty for waiting for this even tho it's super late, bb <333
> 
> title is from crj's "gimmie love"

**Off-season, July 2013**

"Phichit-kun," Yuuri says absently. "Would you hand me my phone? It's on the desk."

"Hmm," Phichit says from his perch on top of the desk. He swings his legs and strokes his chin, contemplative. "What'll you give me if I do?"

Yuuri looks up at him, brow very slightly furrowed. "What?"

Phichit sighs internally. No luck this time either, huh. "Nothing," he says, scooping the phone up in his hand. "Here you go, Yuuri."

"Thanks." Yuuri puts his headphones back in and resumes doing--whatever he's doing on his computer, but he starts typing aggressively on his phone as well. Probably watching another Viktor video and texting his friend Yuuko about it. Phichit knows the routine.

He sits down on the other side of the bed and sighs heavily. Yuuri doesn't seem to hear him, which is just. Fine.

The truth is, Phichit's been trying to get Yuuri to notice him for _three years_ , and so far, it hasn't worked. At first, Phichit wondered if Yuuri just wasn't into him, but then he caught Yuuri checking out his ass at practice. And then he realized that no, Yuuri just didn't think _Phichit_ was into _him_. He was too oblivious to see that most of the skaters at their rink and half their classmates at UMich had intense, embarrassing, debilitating crushes on him.

"It's fine," Yuuri had said once, talking about how he'd never dated anyone before. "I know I'm not really impressive," and Phichit had almost dropped his boba because just that morning, he'd traded commiserating glances with four kids on the diag who were in the middle of guiltily tearing their eyes away from Yuuri's thighs.

Which brings him here, to Yuuri's room, sighing despondently because Yuuri's rewatching Viktor Nikiforov's 2009 Worlds short program for the two-hundredth time, which _normally_ Phichit wouldn't mind--normally, he'd be watching too because honestly, who didn't worship the Living Legend a little?--but. But today Phichit's wearing lip gloss and a new pair of shorts and _Yuuri hasn't noticed_.

Phichit sighs again, louder, and flops onto his back.

Yuuri cautiously takes one earbud out. "Is everything okay?"

"Yuuri," Phichit starts to whine--but then he stops. What can he do, say, that he hasn't already tried? Sidelong glances, flirtatious smiles, invasions of personal space--Yuuri just takes them all in his stride. What if Phichit is just no match for the famous Katsuki Yuuri obliviousness?

"Yes?" Yuuri asks hesitantly.

Maybe it's just time to throw subtlety out the window.

"Yuuri," Phichit tries again, looking up at Yuuri with a smile. "Wanna make out?"

Yuuri blinks. Slowly, his cheeks flush pink, and he bites his lip. He takes the other earbud out. "...yes?"

Phichit mentally fist-pumps, and then sits up. He carefully picks up Yuuri's laptop and closes it, setting it down on the floor, while Yuuri watches him like a dazed rabbit. Then he slides in front of Yuuri, knees pressing into Yuuri's folded legs, and leans in, sets his hand on Yuuri's thigh for balance. "Can I?" he asks, and Yuuri swallows visibly and then nods.

"Please," he says, touching Phichit's arm with unexpected surety.

Phichit smiles, places his hand on Yuuri's jaw, and kisses him.

 

**Grand Prix Final, December 2016**

Phichit was looking forward to having fun at the banquet--maybe seeing a repeat of Yuuri's drunk dance-offs, if he's lucky!--but mostly he's just ready to let loose after a long Grand Prix Series. But when Sara pulls him aside at the beginning of the banquet and says she needs his help, how can he refuse her?

"Please," she says, desperately, "I really need to get laid."

Phichit blinks, thrown off. "A good cause!" he says brightly, if a little confused. "How can I help?"

Sara chews her lip, throwing a glance over her shoulder at her brother, who came with her to Barcelona. "I'm pretty sure if Mickey figures out I'm flirting with someone, he's going to get all pissy and _weird_ about it, and I just really don't have time for that tonight."

"Understandable," Phichit says slowly. "So, again, how can I—"

"I need you to distract him." Sara grabs his hand and makes enormous, pleading eyes. "Please?"

Phichit sighs internally, but smiles. "Of course." Shadowing Michele Crispino all night might not necessarily be his idea of the best time, but--it is for a good cause. And after Sara covered for him with Celestino at the last Worlds, it's only right for him to return the favor.

The thing is...he knows how weirdly--creepily, almost--Michele is wrapped up in Sara at all times. He thought it would take at least some effort, time and maybe careful application of alcohol, before Michele took his watchful eye off of her.

Instead, he latches onto Phichit only twenty minutes into the banquet, laughing at his bad puns, asking him about home. He's clinging to his champagne glass a little tighter than Phichit expected, but he's not getting wasted, so it's not really a problem. It's just a little confusing, because Michele's acting like he's desperate for a distraction. He follows Phichit around like a forlorn dog, eyes darting over to the other side of the room and then back, and—oh. _Oh_.

Sara's dancing over there with Mila, their heads bowed together, laughing and clinging to each other, and there's no way Sara's going back to her room alone tonight.

"You have to let her live her life," Phichit says quietly, and Michele startles.

His shoulders drop, and he sighs. "I know," he says. "It's just—it doesn't feel great to be left behind, you know? I'm so used to it just being the two of us." He laughs, rueful. "It's stupid, I know. I'm fucking twenty-two. It's stupid, right?"

Wordlessly, Phichit passes him his glass of champagne, mostly full, and wordlessly, Michele downs it.

"Want to dance?" Phichit suggests, and Michele lights up.

"Yes, please."

They end up getting tipsy and giggly together, and Phichit finds himself having a much, much better time than he anticipated. When he lets loose a little, Michele Crispino is actually...kind of a funny guy. An hour later, when Mila and Sara leave the banquet, holding hands, he doesn't even seem to notice.

Phichit, on a whim, asks, "Hey, do you want to come back to my room?"

Michele blinks, and then flushes very lightly. "To do what?" he asks warily, and Phichit laughs, surprised at his bluntness.

"I have a bottle of champagne, I think," he says. "We could open it?" And in the interest of full disclosure, he adds, "And maybe see where the night goes from there?"

Michele's flush deepens, and he glances away. "I, uh," he hesitates.

"You don't have to," Phichit says hurriedly, holding up his hands in reassurance. "I just thought—"

"No, I want to," Michele says. "I just...haven't...before."

"Haven't..." Phichit repeats slowly, and then the penny drops. " _Oh_."

Michele looks miserable. "It's fine," he begins, "I know you probably don't want to—"

"Hey," Phichit says, touching his arm. "You're a pretty good-looking guy, Mickey." Michele stiffens at the nickname, but he doesn't seem upset. "I'm up for it if you are."

Michele stares at him, before ducking his head with a tiny smile. "Okay."

 

**Four Continents, January 2017**

"What are you watching?" Phichit asks, and Seung-gil doesn't jump, but Phichit thinks that's just because he's too cool.

He turns around and glares. "Nothing." He hides his phone, but Phichit already saw the video of an unbelievably tiny shih tzu puppy, napping in someone's palm.

Phichit hides a smile and leans over the back of Seung-gil's seat. "You like dogs, hmm?"

Seung-gil blinks at him, before his eyes cut away. "Yes," he says.

"Do you have one?" Phichit asks, and Seung-gil nods. "Got any photos?"

Seung-gil's nose wrinkles briefly, his deep dislike of other human beings and his equally deep love for his husky--that Phichit is pretending he doesn't know about, right--clearly warring inside of him. Finally, he says, "...yes," and doesn't protest when Phichit slips around to sit on the seat next to him. "Shouldn't you be practicing?"

"I'm taking a break," Phichit says primly, crossing his legs. He leans into Seung-gil's space, and carefully notes how Seung-gil tenses but doesn't pull away. "So? Show me."

Seung-gil thumbs open his phone, and flips to his camera roll, showing Phichit a picture of his husky. "She's nine," he says, his deadpan tone failing to disguise the light of excitement in his eyes. Phichit thinks, idly, that it makes him look more handsome.

"What's her name?"

"Jae." Seung-gil swipes to the next picture, which turns out to be a video. "My sister sent me this yesterday."

On the screen, Jae barks at the camera, tries and fails to catch a ball, and then rolls over onto her back, revealing her fluffy tummy. Then the person holding the camera--Seung-gil's sister probably--calls for her. Jae runs back over and licks the screen excitedly, surprising a laugh out of Phichit. He looks back at Seung-gil's face, and sees the hint of a smile. "Show me some more?"

"Here," Seung-gil says without hesitation, and shows a photo of Jae as a puppy. She's small enough to fit easily in what must be a young Seung-gil's lap.

"I remember this one from your instagram," Phichit says excitedly. "You posted it on her birthday, right?"

Seung-gil goes quiet, and Phichit looks up at him. "What's wrong?"

"If you follow me, why did you pretend like you didn't know I had a dog?" His voice is cold, his face wooden, and Phichit kicks himself a little.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I just wanted an excuse to start a conversation."

Seung-gil inspects him coolly. "Why?"

"I think you're cute," Phichit says. "And I like your dog. Do you want to get a drink tonight?"

Seung-gil blinks, his face opening up again in his surprise. "What?"

"You don't have to," Phichit adds, "but I think you'd have fun."

"I try not to drink at competitions," Seung-gil says, but his voice is hesitant. Phichit is reminded briefly of Yuuri, and wonders if Seung-gil avoids alcohol for similar reasons. He smiles.

"Then why don't you have dinner with me," he offers. "And then we can renegotiate drinks?"

Seung-gil looks down at his phone, turning it over in his hands absent-mindedly. On someone else, Phichit would assume it signaled nerves.

"Seung-gil?"

"Okay," Seung-gil says, and when he raises his head, still not making eye contact, Phichit sees that his lips are upturned.

Phichit's smile widens.

 

**World Championship, March 2017**

At first it's just a fun challenge: trying to crack Otabek Altin's cool exterior. Phichit knows that somewhere underneath, there's a soft center. He remembers seeing a hint of it in Barcelona with everyone else, how friendly he was with Yuri, the sincere way he congratulated Viktor and Yuuri on their engagement. But still, Otabek is mostly an enigma, one that Phichit enjoys puzzling over.

"That was really something," Phichit tells him after his free skate. "Beethoven's a good look for you."

Otabek pauses, and then nods briefly. "Thank you. Your program was beautiful. It's easy to see why everyone loves you."

Phichit blinks. That was--surprisingly effusive. "Everyone?"

"I've heard a lot about you, even back home," Otabek says. "They say you're the best entertainer the ice has seen in a decade."

"That's not true," Phichit says, laughing a little. "No one says that."

Otabek shrugs one shoulder. "They will."

Phichit laughs again, but it comes out oddly uneven. Otabek just tilts his head at him, utterly sincere.

"Hey, um," Phichit says. "I think some of the others are gathering for drinks in Chris's room, want to come?" He hesitates ( _what's wrong with you_ , he chides himself) and then adds, "With me, I mean."

"I don't drink," Otabek says, and Phichit winces internally. "And I'm not really the socializing type."

"Ah, I see," he says, muted. It's fine. It's not like he's never been turned down before. He'll just grin and shrug it off like he normally does, even though this time, for some reason, it stings a little more. "Sorry, just wanted to—"

"I usually order something sweet from room service if I do well at a competition, though," Otabek continues casually, and Phichit closes his mouth with a click. "Cake, or something."

"Really?" Phichit asks, surprised.

Otabek glances at him. "Why, do I not seem like the type?"

Phichit waves a hand hastily. "No, no, it's just—" Then he registers the dryness of Otabek's tone, and he mock-scowls. "You're making fun of me."

"Never," Otabek says. "So?"

Phichit considers him carefully. "You want me to come up to your room and..."

"Share some cake with me," Otabek says, open and honest as always. But then his face changes, his eyebrows raising, and he smirks slightly. "Or whatever you'd like to do instead."

"Oh," Phichit says, and then laughs, giddy with excitement and relief. "I expected to have to seduce you a _little_ ," he teases, and Otabek blinks.

"You already did," he says, his eyes flickering to the screen in the corner replaying highlights. They've just finished showing Phichit's quad toe loop.

Phichit's mouth goes dry. "Damn," he says, "do we really have to stay for the medal ceremony?"

Otabek looks at him askance, and then his mouth quirks upward. "Yes, but...maybe we can have that drink in my room?"

"Yeah," Phichit says breathlessly. "That sounds good."

Otabek touches his shoulder briefly as he walks by, and Phichit shivers. He glances at the door, wondering whether he has time to step outside to get some air. He's feeling a little warm.

 

The cake ends up being delayed a little, because as soon as they're inside his room, Otabek presses Phichit up against the door. He puts his hands on Phichit's hips and says, "Is this okay?", his voice a low rumble in his chest.

Phichit laughs, linking his arms together behind Otabek's neck. "What do you think I've been trying to do all night?"

Otabek kisses him, then, and Phichit smiles against his lips. It's been a while since he felt like this, like champagne fizzing through his veins, golden. It's good.

It's really good.

 

Later, when Phichit's draped across Otabek's chest, pleasantly worn out, Otabek's phone buzzes.

Otabek shifts, and then Phichit hears him laugh quietly.

"What?" Phichit asks, lifting his head and propping his chin on Otabek's shoulder.

Otabek tilts the screen so Phichit can see that he's screenshotted a snapchat from Yuri Plisetsky. It's a distant, blurry picture of Viktor spinning on the ice, and in the foreground is a hand attached to a Team Russia jacket sleeve, its middle finger raised.

Phichit laughs, and then the phone buzzes with another notification. Otabek clicks on it, and this one is Yuri, hair braided intricately, rolling his eyes heavily. Otabek screenshots that too, and when Phichit looks up at him, his expression is very fond.

 

Otabek texts Phichit a few days later, when Phichit is back home in Thailand visiting his parents. _we should do that again_ , it says, and Phichit responds easily, _yes!!! i had fun :)_.

He flips to instagram and scrolls through his feed. Yuuri and Viktor, doing perfectly synchronized spins at practice back in Hasetsu. Seung-gil lying on the grass, body almost entirely hidden by Jae's body--Phichit giggles at that one, and likes it. Michele and Sara at a movie, grinning at the camera, with equally effusive comments from Mila and--Emil? Huh.

Phichit smiles and keeps scrolling, and sees Chris's loaf of a cat, and because it's Chris, there's a mile of bare thigh in the shot as well. There's also what looks like--is that a wedding invite?--from JJ, of _course_ , and Phichit snorts and scrolls past. Leo in Phoenix, practicing his quad; Guang Hong in Beijing, eating crepes. Yuri in St. Petersburg, stretching at the barre.

And then there's Otabek, who's apparently there, too. He's posted a photo of him and Yuri, both of them smiling for once--laughing, actually, Otabek's eyes crinkled, Yuri's head tipped back as he laughs, open-mouthed and joyful.

 _Oh_ , Phichit thinks, as thoughts rearrange themselves in his mind like puzzle pieces, forming a complete picture. So that's how it is.

He bites his lip and likes the photo.

 

**Katsuki-Nikiforov Wedding, August 2017**

"You should stop glaring if you don't want to be alone all night," Phichit murmurs into Yuri's ear, and snorts when he jumps.

"Don't _do_ that," Yuri snaps, and then seems to register what Phichit said. "Wait, what?"

Phichit shrugs. "You've been hanging out in this corner the whole time," he says. "I think you're scaring everyone away."

Yuri scowls harder. "Maybe that's how I like it."

"No," Phichit laughs, ruffling his hair. "No, you don't."

"Ugh," Yuri says, looking away. "Whatever. Besides, you're here, so I'm not alone."

"Doesn't count," Phichit says, shaking his head. "We're rooming together, so you'd be stuck with me anyway." He rests one arm on Yuri's shoulder and says, "Now come on, tell me what's wrong. You're being even more grumpy cat than normal."

Yuri stiffens, but doesn't shrug him off. "Nothing's wrong."

"Come oooon," Phichit prods, draping himself over Yuri's side. "You can tell me!"

"Just _drop it_ ," Yuri snarls, but Phichit's already seen the direction he's looking in. It's easy to see from this angle: Otabek behind the DJ's booth, being chatted up by one of the guests Phichit doesn't know. He can tell that it's just friendly, at least on Otabek's end--but Yuri might not know that.

Phichit hums thoughtfully. "If you really want to be left alone, that's fine. I just thought you looked like you needed a distraction."

Yuri glares up at him. "So then distract me," he says flatly.

Oh. _Hmm_. Carefully, Phichit puts his arm around Yuri's waist, and says into his ear, "Want to get out of here?"

Yuri's face goes open in his surprise, the perpetual furrow between his eyebrows smoothing out. "What?"

"You heard me," Phichit says, thumb brushing over Yuri's hip. Yuri shivers, and then shoves him away.

"Are you making fun of me?" he demands.

Phichit holds his hands up in front of him, placating. "No, no," he says. "I just. You said to distract you, and I figured as long as we're in the same place, we...might as well have some fun?" When Yuri just stares at him, he drops his hands awkwardly and adds, "Unless you're not interested, which--that's fine, if you're not. I just wanted to—"

"I'm interested," Yuri says, his voice low and uncharacteristically quiet. Phichit draws closer again, leaning in, and Yuri lets him. Phichit wraps his fingers loosely around Yuri's wrist, and Yuri's mouth parts on an exhale. "I'm definitely interested." His voice is even lower than before, and Phichit wants to kiss him. But not here. Phichit might not be shy, but he's not going to let them make a spectacle at his best friend's wedding.

"I'm going to go tell Viktor and Yuuri we're heading out," Phichit says, and marvels a little at the roughness of his own voice. Yuri nods jerkily, and then steps back, brushing his hair back from his face with one hand. His cheeks are flushed.

Phichit smiles, lets go of Yuri's wrist. He shoves his hand, the fingers tingling, into the pocket of his pants, and goes to find the married couple.

 

"You're different from how I expected," Phichit remarks when they're done.

Yuri turns his head to face Phichit, making a questioning noise.

Phichit smiles. "You're sweeter."

Yuri sits bolt upright, staring at him in consternation. "I am _not_ ," he says, horrified.

"Hmm," Phichit says slyly, sitting up as well. He reaches up and brushes Yuri's loose hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear. "You sure about that?" he murmurs as he brushes his thumb over Yuri's cheekbone.

Yuri's face softens visibly, and then he seems to remember himself because he groans, " _Ugh_ ," and topples back onto the futon, hiding his face in Phichit's thigh.

He mumbles something else, and Phichit asks, "What was that?"

"You're exactly how I expected," Yuri repeats balefully, face still pressed to Phichit's leg. "You look nice and friendly, but you're a dick."

Phichit laughs, delighted. "You seemed pretty into it," he quips, and Yuri's ears go red. Phichit flops back onto his back, stares up at the ceiling, and asks, "Hey, Yuri, can I ask you something?"

Yuri grumbles sleepily, and Phichit takes that as a yes.

He inhales, fortifying himself. "Do you have a crush on Otabek?"

Yuri freezes.

Hastily, Phichit continues, "You don't have to tell me, I just--it's okay if you do."

"Shut up," Yuri says, and his voice is very flat. Phichit bites his lip, wondering how badly he's fucked things up. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm just saying," Phichit says, although really, he should just stop talking, "I get it, if you do. I mean, I'm pretty sure half the skating world has a crush on him at this point, like, did you _see_ that video he posted on twitter a week ago?"

Yuri rolls over and away, his back facing Phichit. "It's not a crush."

Phichit stalls in his monologue. "What?"

"Crushes are--ugh." He pauses, and then restarts. "Crushes are for kids. They're temporary, there one day and gone the next. They're--they're fun, and _painless_."

"And," Phichit says slowly, "it's not a crush?"

Yuri laughs, humorless. "Nope."

Phichit is silent for a moment, trying to figure out how best to proceed. Finally, he says, hesitant: "You should tell him."

"What?" Yuri says, flipping around to face him. " _No_."

"Why not?" Phichit says. "You just said it's hurting you, that he doesn't know."

"It's hurting me that he doesn't _want_ me," Yuri snaps, face clouded over with anger and--something else. "I'm not gonna make him hate me, he's my best friend. My--shit." He covers his face with both hands. "My only friend."

"That's not true," Phichit says, helpless. "Yuri, that's not--you have friends."

"Katsudon and the old man don't count," Yuri says bitterly. "Rinkmates don't count. Who else is there?"

Phichit carefully doesn't look at him when he says, "There's me?"

Yuri is silent, and Phichit holds his breath, slowly forcing himself to unclench his hands from the fists they've formed at his sides.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to make this weird."

"You were supposed to distract me," Yuri says, and Phichit can't read his tone. Funny; he used to think Yuri was an open book.

Phichit smiles crookedly. "Sorry," he repeats. And then, because he's an idiot, he says, "I still think you should tell him, but I won't push."

"Why do you want me to tell him so bad?" Yuri demands. "I'm literally in bed with you right now and you're trying to foist me off on some other guy?"

"It's just—" Phichit bites his lip. "I think you'd be surprised by how well it could turn out."

Yuri goes quiet. Then, after a moment, his voice subdued, he says, "You think he could want me back?"

Phichit turns onto his side to look at him. "Yes," he says, simply. "I mean--how could he not?"

Yuri blinks at him, and then goes pink. "Oh," he says softly, gaze going distant. "Maybe I will tell him."

"Good," Phichit says, and wonders why he doesn't feel more satisfied.

 

**Rostelecom Cup, November 2017**

He considers avoiding them, but the next time they see each other is months later, and the immediacy of the sting has worn off. He's had plenty of time to get used to it: dinners out, matching leather jackets, romantic motorcycle rides through the city, all documented lovingly on Otabek and Yuri's social media. Otabek is private enough that there aren't too many details, and he must convince Yuri to act the same, otherwise Phichit is _sure_ that every day he'd be seeing a new photo of Yuri Plisetsky kissing his boyfriend, flipping off the camera and any potential haters.

Phichit laughs, thinking of it.

He's--well, not entirely over it, to be honest. But he recognizes that it was the right decision, taking a step back. They were so clearly preoccupied with each other, even when they were with him. It was just the decent thing to do.

Still stings a little bit, though.

"Yuri," he hears, from behind him, and can't stop his shoulders from stiffening. He forces them to relax and then turns around to see Yuri watching him, his face unreadable. The voice was Yakov's, trying to get his attention, but Yuri's not listening.

"Hey," he calls, calmly enough, but impossible to ignore, with the way he's projecting his voice across the hotel lobby.

Phichit grins at him and waves, before turning to Celestino at his side. "Should we take these bags up?" he asks.

Celestino looks at him knowingly for a moment before saying, "Sure." He hands Phichit a key card in its sleeve. "This is yours, why don't you go ahead."

Phichit takes it and shoulders his bag, heading for the bank of elevators. A second later, he hears rapid footfalls coming his way, and he sighs internally.

Yuri stops abruptly at Phichit's side, rocking forward on his toes. "Hey," he says again. "What's up."

"Hmm, nothing much," Phichit replies nonchalantly. "Just thinking about how nice it'll be to win another gold." He'd placed first at Skate America, and it's true, he fully intends to win here too. But more importantly, he knows it'll put Yuri off any more personal questions. Just in case.

Sure enough, Yuri's eyes flare. "Oh yeah?" he responds hotly. "Just fucking wait, I'm going to beat your ass."

The elevator dings then, and Phichit gets in. Yuri follows him.

"What are you doing tonight?" Yuri asks.

Phichit blinks. "Why?"

Yuri blinks back at him, and then averts his eyes, fidgeting with the hairband around his wrist. "No reason."

"Are you--blushing?" Phichit asks, smiling despite himself, and Yuri glares at him.

"No! Just forget I asked, okay?" Yuri snaps, and Phichit takes pity on him.

"Yuri," he says patiently. "Just say it."

Yuri scowls, looks away again. "Otabek's here too," he mumbles.

"Oh?" Phichit says, like he hadn't checked as soon as the assignments were released.

"Yeah," Yuri says. "He, uh, wanted to know. If you wanted to get dinner or something."

" _He_ did, huh?" Phichit teases, but his mind is racing. Why would they—no, it's probably something normal. Friends eat together all the time. It's probably not going to be weird, no matter how much Phichit is picturing being sat down and let down gently by the two of them, all the more painful for its redundancy. He doesn't need to be told.

" _Hey_ ," Yuri says, for the third time. He's eyeing Phichit warily. "You okay?"

Phichit shakes his head quickly, then smiles. "Fine! Yeah, that sounds fun. When and where?"

"I haven't decided where yet," Yuri says shiftily. "But, uh, eight okay?"

"Eight's fine," Phichit says, bemused. The elevator opens and he waves to Yuri. "See you then."

Yuri nods, and then his eyes widen. "Hey!" he yells as the doors are closing. "Wear something nice, okay?"

The doors shut. "...okay?" Phichit says to the empty hallway.

 

So he puts on his nicest outfit, crisp light blue shirt and tailored navy trousers, and gels his hair back from his face. He does his eyeliner extra carefully and puts on a little lip gloss, and then he snapchats a selfie to Guang Hong.

 _whoa!!_ he gets in response. date night??

Shit. Phichit wipes the gloss off with a tissue and stares himself down in the mirror. "Don't do it," he tells himself.

His traitorous hand picks up the tube of gloss again.

"Damn it," he hisses, even as he opens it up.

There's a knock on his door at 7:50, and when Phichit opens it, he's surprised to see it's Otabek.

"Oh," he says inanely. "I, uh--was just heading down to the lobby."

"I told Yuri I'd come get you," Otabek says in response, the low rumble of his voice familiar and soothing. "Ready?"

Phichit hums an affirmative and grabs his phone before closing the door behind him.

"You look good," Otabek says, and Phichit turns to look at him. His face is smooth, impassive.

Phichit smiles, looking down the length of Otabek's body. He's filling out that jacket very nicely, his brain supplies, and Phichit ruthlessly tamps it down. "I like your hair," he says instead.

Otabek glances at him, brow raised. "It's the same, isn't it?"

Phichit shakes his head. "Mm-mm. This is new," he says, reaching out and brushing his thumb over the design shaved into Otabek's nape. Just three horizontal lines, probably subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice.

"Oh," Otabek says, his voice slightly off, and Phichit realizes that they're stopped in the middle of the corridor, his hand still resting on the back of Otabek's neck.

He draws it back with a sheepish laugh. "Sorry!" he says. "Feels cool, though."

"You mentioned," Otabek murmurs, and Phichit flushes with heat at the memory. He said it when they were in Otabek's hotel room back in Helsinki, Otabek kissing his throat, and Phichit's hands in his hair just like that. He giggled when he brushed over the shaved part. _Feels nice_ he said, smiling, _makes me want to keep touching it_.

 _So keep touching it, then_ , Otabek had replied, his lips buzzing against Phichit's skin.

Back in the moment, Phichit's ears grow warm, and he clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. "We should head down," he says, careful not to let his voice waver. "Yuri will get impatient."

Otabek looks at him wordlessly, and then nods.

They ride the elevator down in silence, and then in the lobby they're immediately accosted by Yuri, who yells, "What took you so long! We're going to be late."

"We're still one minute early," Phichit laughs, but he lets Yuri grab him by the wrist and pull him out of the hotel, where there's a taxi waiting. Otabek follows at a less agitated pace. "Where are we going?" Phichit asks, as Yuri gets in the car and pulls Phichit in after him.

"You'll see," Yuri says cryptically. Otabek slides in on Phichit's other side, their thighs pressed together, and closes the door.

Yuri leans forward to give the address to the driver, and then they're moving.

"Should I be texting somebody?" Phichit asks lightly. "Are you two going to serial-kill me?"

Yuri throws him an unimpressed look. "I don't murder my competition. I like to beat them fairly." Otabek snorts quietly.

They pull up in front of a small-ish restaurant that looks warm and inviting but also like it's probably very expensive. The interior doesn't dissuade Phichit of that assumption at all, and he turns to Yuri and whispers, "Where did you find this place?" It's nice, but it doesn't really smack of Yuri Plisetsky's typical style.

Yuri wrinkles his nose and stays silent, so Phichit raises his eyebrows at Otabek.

Otabek shrugs. "He asked Viktor, I think," he says, and Yuri looks away, doesn't disagree.

"Oh," Phichit says, hiding a smile. That's sweet.

Yuri sits down on one side of the table, and scowls when Phichit makes to sit across from him. Hesitantly, Phichit sits next to him, and Yuri relaxes.

Phichit looks questioningly at Otabek, who nonchalantly sits on the other side and opens his menu.

"Put that down," Yuri snaps. "I'll order for you. You too," he says to Phichit, though his voice lilts up almost like a question.

"Sure?" Phichit says, confused. "If you want to, I guess." He smiles at Yuri. "Not like I know much of the language anyway, hm?"

When the server comes to their table, Yuri immediately points out a few things on the menu--politely enough it seems, to Phichit's relief. Phichit watches him bemusedly, chin resting on his hand.

He feels something brush against his leg, and turns his head to see Otabek watching him unreadably.

Phichit raises his eyebrows, a silent question. Otabek raises his back, and the phantom touch resolves itself into Otabek's foot, pressed against his own, gentle but present. It shouldn't feel so warm, through both of their shoes, and yet.

"Sorry," Phichit says, drawing his foot back, and he doesn't miss the way Otabek frowns slightly. Not an accident, then.

They chat haltingly over appetizers, and then fall into a vaguely fraught silence during the main course. Halfway through, Otabek sighs and reaches across the table, taking Phichit's hand in his own. "Phichit."

Phichit, stunned, doesn't pull away. "What are you—"

"I think it's pretty obvious what I'm doing," Otabek says, his voice low, and Phichit feels his face go hot.

He looks to his right, panicked, and finds Yuri staring back at him, blue eyes intent. A second later, Phichit feels a hand land hesitantly on his thigh, just above his knee.

His other hand drops the fork it's holding. "What are you two doing," Phichit says, hushed.

Yuri huffs. "He _just_ said—"

Phichit shakes his head. "I mean _why_?"

Slowly, Yuri withdraws his hand. "Do you not..." He presses his lips together and then looks across the table to Otabek for direction.

Otabek clears his throat. "He asked Viktor for the best place in Moscow to take a first date." His thumb strokes over the back of Phichit's hand and Phichit stares at it.

It's--not exactly a surprise, all things considered, except for how it really, really is. Phichit hadn't let himself consider the possibility, and now he's reeling. "A date," he repeats numbly.

Otabek untangles their hands. "Sorry," he says. "We thought you—"

"I _do_ ," Phichit says, too loud, and he cringes. Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed. "I just didn't think you would."

"That's stupid," Yuri says bluntly. "How could we not?"

And with that, Phichit finds himself smiling, then grinning hard enough he has to take a drink of water to hide it.

Yuri frowns. "Are you done eating yet?" he demands. "Can we go?"

Otabek huffs out a laugh, but Phichit mulls it over, and decides, "Yes. Let's go back."

 

He calls a cab while Yuri pays ("I'm a gold-medalist," he snaps, when Phichit protests, "I can pay for my fucking date's dinner."), and then they're on their way back to the hotel, Phichit sandwiched between Yuri and Otabek again. Yuri's hand has made its way back to Phichit's thigh, but higher than before, and this time lacking in anything resembling hesitation.

When he slides it up further, almost to the inseam, Phichit grabs him by the wrist and stills him. "Eager, Yuri?" he says with a smile.

"Impatient," Otabek chides, and Yuri makes a face.

"What, and you're not?" he demands.

Otabek huffs and doesn't answer, but Phichit knows--because when they get back to the hotel and Otabek's room, he's the one who pushes Phichit up against the just-closed door, kissing him breathless. "I missed this," he gasps against Phichit's neck, before biting him sharply. Phichit should warn him that they're all skating tomorrow, and he shouldn't leave a mark, but honestly, does he care? No.

"Me too," he groans instead, threading his fingers through Otabek's hair, before dropping down to clutch at the shaved part of his scalp. It really does feel nice.

Yuri makes a noise that Phichit, if he had a death wish, might call a whine. "Beka," he snaps, irritable, " _let me_ , come on, please—"

Otabek sighs and pulls at Phichit's hips, turning them around so that his own back is to the door, Phichit pressed up against his front.

"Mm," Phichit hums, when he feels nimble fingers at his waist, untucking his shirt deftly. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you naked," Yuri grumbles. "Too many damn clothes."

"You should see me when I'm really trying," Phichit laughs, tipping his head back to give Otabek access. He doesn't bruise easily, but he bets Otabek's managed, anyway. Damn, Celestino's going to kill him.

Yuri's started on his buttons, now, and before long he's pulling Phichit's shirt off his shoulders. Otabek inhales sharply, and then his hands slide up and around, his arms encircling Phichit's waist, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Phichit shivers, and then gasps as Otabek yanks him closer against him, kissing him again like he's starving for it.

There's another petulant noise from behind him, and Otabek pulls back, snaps, "Fine, just _do_ it, Yuri," and then Yuri's urging Phichit to twist his head around and meet his lips. The angle is shit, but it doesn't _matter_ , not when Yuri's making hungry little noises into Phichit's mouth, grinding against the small of his back.

"Please," Phichit moans. "Just do something."

Yuri pulls back and the heat of him disappears, and Phichit hears him drop to his knees. Phichit swears, tucking his head into the curve of Otabek's neck. Yuri's hands come around to unbutton and unzip Phichit's pants, pulling them down to Phichit's ankles. Phichit steps out of them, and then he realizes that he's almost naked, while Yuri and Otabek are still completely dressed.

"Hey," Phichit pouts, tugging at the lapels of Otabek's jacket. "Why is this still on?"

Otabek raises his eyebrows in response and shrugs the jacket off, throwing it carelessly away from them onto the floor.

Phichit hums, pleased. "And the rest of it?"

"It can wait," Otabek says, and pulls their hips together again.

Yuri makes a frustrated noise from the floor. "I'll be right back," he mutters and disappears. Phichit frowns, but Otabek doesn't seem too concerned, his thumbs slowly, lazily tracing over the waistband of Phichit's briefs and dipping inside, stroking over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck," Phichit says breathlessly. "Take them off."

Otabek smiles. "Gladly." He pushes the briefs off, and then leaves one hand stroking over Phichit's hipbone while the other slides around to his ass.

Phichit whines into Otabek's shoulder, straining upward to press his dick against the soft fabric of Otabek's t-shirt, hands clutching at Otabek's biceps. He feels--oversensitive, desperate. Normally he's more in control than this, but this time, for some reason—

"You're thinking too much," Otabek rumbles, pulling Phichit's head back and kissing him softly. Phichit huffs out a laugh.

"So make me stop thinking, then," he challenges, and feels Otabek's smirk more than he sees it.

The hand Otabek has on his ass creeps down and spreads him open a little, and he dips one finger in to rub over Phichit's hole. "How's that?"

"Good," Phichit breathes, rocking up on his toes. His dick leaks a little, and Phichit spares a moment to be glad that Otabek doesn't bother with designer clothing. "Put it in," he urges, and Otabek frowns.

"I don't have any—"

"Back," Yuri says. "Took me a second to find it, it was all the way at the bottom of your bag."

Phichit twists around to look at him. "What was?"

Yuri smirks up at him, and Phichit hears the click of a bottle cap opening. A moment later, one of Yuri's deft fingers is tracing, slick and cool, around Phichit's entrance. "Can I?" he asks.

" _Please_ ," Phichit says, and cries out when Yuri pushes his finger in.

Because he's Yuri, there's little tentativeness to it. He works Phichit open smoothly, confidently, with single-minded dedication. After a few minutes, Phichit's pleading for another finger, and Yuri smiles smugly and gives it to him.

"Come on, come on," Phichit moans, not even sure what he's begging for--until Otabek reaches down and grasps his dick firmly. "Ah, fuck—"

"Yeah," Yuri says, and he sounds so hot for it that Phichit can't help but push.

"Are you going to fuck me?" he asks, and revels in the hurt noise Yuri lets out at that.

"Can I?" Yuri breathes, and Phichit bites his lip.

He wants to, but unfortunately, "We can't," he says apologetically. "Competition tomorrow, remember?"

Yuri's quiet for a moment, and then he laughs quietly. "I forgot," he admits, and Otabek snorts too, and Phichit has to close his eyes because of how _happy_ he is.

"Come on, Yuri," he says, smiling against Otabek's throat, "keep going, please?"

Yuri exhales, warm breath against Phichit's shoulder, and does. With Yuri in him, and Otabek's hand jerking him steadily, the two of them working him over steadily--it's no wonder he comes almost immediately, joyous, his breaths almost like sobs.

Yuri stands up, pressing himself against Phichit's back again, and Phichit comes back to himself.

"Let me," he says, twisting around to try to touch Yuri.

He feels Yuri _thump_ his forehead between Phichit's shoulderblades. "It's fine."

Phichit frowns. "What?"

"I already..." Yuri trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant, and with a sudden rush of heat, Phichit understands.

"Shit," Phichit breathes. " _Yuri_."

"Don't," Yuri groans, sounding embarrassed, and Phichit doesn't know how to tell him that it's not embarrassing at all, but rather _really fucking hot_. He settles for reaching back and grabbing Yuri's hip, pulling him closer and feeling him shiver. "Just—" Yuri says shakily. "Beka still has to—"

"Oh," Phichit says, and then pushes backward, forcing Yuri to shift, and once he has enough room, he drops to his knees.

Otabek makes a sharp, cut-off noise, dropping his head back against the door. _God_ , Phichit thinks, hysterically, we're still against the door.

He laughs, and Otabek makes a questioning noise. Phichit just shakes his head and takes Otabek's dick out of his jeans, then leans forward to take the head in his mouth. He hums around it contentedly, his eyes fluttering closed when Otabek rests one hand on the back of Phichit's head.

There's wet noises from above him, and Phichit looks up to see Yuri leaning against the door by Otabek, kissing him messily. Yuri kisses surprisingly sweetly, Phichit remembers, and he sees it in the way Yuri presses up against Otabek's side, clinging to his shoulder with one hand. Phichit pulls off and sucks Yuri's thumb into his mouth, smiling when he hears Yuri whimper quietly.

He goes back to sucking Otabek, and it only takes another minute before he comes with a low, hurt noise.

And then it's silent, except the sounds of them breathing; Otabek leaning against the door with Yuri collapsed against his side, the wood taking most of their weight; Phichit with his hands on Otabek's thighs, resting his head against the cut of Otabek's hipbone, utterly and beautifully worn out.

"Hey," Phichit breaks the silence, and one of them hums in response. Keeping his eyes closed, he says, "I really, really like you two." Because he's pretty sure they know--he knows he's been showing it--but he's gotten through his whole life by saying how he feels, and he's not about to stop now. He isn't shy about the things he wants, and now that he knows he can have it, he wants _them_.

They're quiet, above him, and Phichit waits.

Yuri tackles him backward onto the floor, landing on top of him, and kisses Phichit until he's dizzy from lack of oxygen. "Good," he says fiercely, Otabek watching them, his eyes dark with emotion. "Good," Yuri says again. "Because you're not getting rid of us, now."

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter as @peakcaps and tumblr as @pageleaf! :)


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